


But One Life to Lose

by Muccamukk



Category: White House Down (2013)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Science, Fuck Or Die, Handwaving, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Canon, Sex Pollen, Simultaneous Orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-06-24 01:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15619665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk
Summary: John Cale's done a lot of things in the name of duty, but he never expected to have to sleep with the president to save his life.





	But One Life to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryontop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryontop/gifts).



> This story contains dubious consent to the tune of if one character doesn't have sex he will die, and there is angst about this. There's also implied racism and on screen poisoning. Also if you don't want to read about POTUS sleeping with his staff, this might not be your pairing.
> 
> Big thank you to GlassesOfJustice for the excellent job beta reading. Title by Nathan Hale.

John had heard that a lot of weird shit came with this job, but he hadn't expected to be sitting by the President of the United States' bedside and literally holding his hand while said president tried not to look as terrified as he felt.

"It's okay, sir," John said for the tenth time in about five minutes. Sawyer was lying on top of his bed, propped up by a few pillows, and John had yanked a chair over so that he could sit next to him. The hand holding had started pretty early in; John wasn't even sure Sawyer had realised he was doing it. "You've got a lot of smart people working for you. We're going to figure this out."

Finnerty shot John a look indicating that she didn't appreciate the extra pressure, but didn't stop talking into her radio. Sawyer had nailed down a list of who he'd shaken hands with in the ballroom, and Finnerty was in the middle of shaking down every single one of them at once. She should be out there, but she couldn't seem to let the president out of her sight.

"How are you feeling?" John asked, trying to pull Sawyer back into the real world. He was staring glassy eyed at the ceiling, and it was starting to scare John. Well, if John were honest—which he was trying to be better at since the first time James Sawyer had clapped him on the back of the neck and whispered that he shouldn't lie—he'd been scared shitless for a good twenty minutes now.

"Not so great," Sawyer said. "Heart's racing, feeling really hot. Nausea is gone though." So much for it being bad shellfish, which was the original theory. His hold on John's hand tightened convulsively, then relaxed, then clenched again. John felt his knuckles crunch under the pressure, but stayed where he was.

"Marine One is two minutes out," Finnerty said.

"I don't know if we should move him." That was Doctor Ng, the president's personal physician. She was pacing anxiously along the parameter of the suite, which looked like a damn good idea to John. No one had a fucking clue what the drug was, only that it could be administered by touch, and that the president was burning up. It just about figured that a fucking hurricane had changed their itinerary, and now they were in some backwater town in Alabama that only had one decent hotel, and no decent hospital. Not that John trusted the president to strange doctors in a strange medical facility. If he hadn't hated mid-term primaries before, this would definitely have done it for him. He hated that this had happened on his watch, too.

"Well we can't leave him here," Finnerty snapped, then switched onto another call before Ng could tell her again that she didn't know what changes in air pressure would do when Sawyer's heart was skipping all over the place.

"He can hear you," Sawyer muttered, and John squeezed his hand.

He hated that he was stuck here with the most useful thing he could do being sitting next to Sawyer's bed and letting himself be used as a security blanket. If Finnerty had anything at all in the world for him to do, he'd have been gone, or that's what he told himself. Sawyer was freaking the fuck out—in his own quiet and deeply internal way, that only people who knew him well could see—and John sitting next to him and holding his hand seemed to make him feel a bit better.

John told himself that he'd think about how being trusted that much made him feel, later, when he knew that Sawyer was safe.

Finnerty snapped the phone closed and stalked out of the suite, tossing back, "We have him, sir!" half a second before she vanished, a couple Counter Assault Team members in tow. John wasn't even sure where she'd gotten the C.A.T. gang; they'd seemed to materialise to suit her wishes.

"See, we're getting there. We'll get you fixed up any minute now," John said, which might have been a bridge too far, as patronising comforting noises went, because Sawyer looked at John long enough to narrow his eyes at him and grimace.

"No enhanced interrogation," Sawyer said, which didn't do much good talking to John and Doctor Ng, but he'd told Finnerty before, so maybe something had stuck.

"She knows," John assured him. "She wouldn't." That was probably a lie, or would be if Finnerty wasn't too smart to think that shit actually worked. John wished he could say for sure that if he were locked in a room with whoever had hurt his president that he wouldn't be tempted to smack the hell out them, for his own satisfaction if nothing else. He liked to think that he wouldn't, if Sawyer asked him not to, at least. There wasn't a hell of a lot he wouldn't do if Sawyer asked him. It wasn't even about orders or chain of command or any of that bullshit. Somewhere on that first day eight months ago—probably between the elevator shaft and the armoured limo—John had realised that he had it bad. It wasn't the most inappropriate crush he'd ever had, but it was in the top five.

"Okay," Sawyer said, and squeezed John's hand again. His jaw was clenched, and he looked like he was in pain.

"Sir?" John asked, speaking softly. He was trying for a calming tone, to keep himself from freaking out as much as anything. "Mr. President, how are you feeling?"

Sawyer looked a the ceiling, deliberately avoiding John's eyes. "I've uh... I've got a problem."

 _No shit,_ John thought, but then he looked over Sawyer's body and saw what he meant. The front of his impeccable navy trousers was tented up by a growing hard on. "Doc!" John said.

Ng appeared at the bedside, leaning in front of John to check Sawyer's pulse and blood pressure. "When did that start?" she asked.

Sawyer kept just staring at the ceiling, and muttered, "I felt kind of turned on a few minutes ago, but the little president down there: just now."

"Little president?" John asked before he could stop himself.

"Shut up, Agent Cale," Ng snapped. She had her phone out and John caught a flash of the some kind of chemistry code gibberish. "I think," she started to say, but Finnerty burst back in, sans marines this time.

"It's a goddamn aphrodisiac," Finnerty said.

"Yeah, we worked that out," John commented, then looked at Sawyer, who hadn't met anyone's eyes since the little president had come on the scene. Jesus, this had to suck for him.

Finnerty stopped so hard her shoes squeaked, took in Sawyer's condition at a glance, and then started rattling off her report like there was absolutely nothing awkward about her boss having a public boner. "The bastard was proud of it. He said he drugged you so the public would see what you really were. I guess he thought you'd get hot and bothered and start jumping people. White nationalist piece of shit. Whoever did the guest screening on this event is going to find out what the bottom of the Marianas Trench looks like, and soon."

"Shit," Sawyer muttered. "I can see how that would have looked, had to be in the damn South." John could too, and again he was glad he'd not been the one locked in a room with orders not to hit anyone. "So do I just, uh... wait it out?"

"No," Ng said. She was still looking at her phone, but John got the feeling that was so that she didn't have to look her boss in the eye and tell him whatever she had found out. "I know what this is now. It's a new drug, just starting to show up on the black market, usually in conjunction with human trafficking. If we leave this untreated, your heart rate will continue to accelerate until you have an embolism."

"Shit," Finnerty said. "What's the treatment? Is there a sedative or something you can give him, some kind of counteragent?"

Ng was shaking her head before she even finished. "Everything's still experimental, and there's nothing closer than Atlanta, anyway."

John could see Finnerty working through flight times in her head and not liking the answers. "Then what do we do?"

Ng was fidgeting with her phone again, and John could see a flush rising through her perfect foundation, a real blush under the simulated one. He had a gut feeling where this was headed, and he squeezed Sawyer's hand even harder. Sawyer squeezed back.

"Hit me, Doc," Sawyer said when she hesitated too long.

"The drug has been been known to respond to certain pheromones, uh, specifically those released during orgasm. Sorry," she added, still blushing. John guessed that this eventuality wasn't covered in whatever class med students took on discussing sexual hygiene.

"Oh," Sawyer said, "Then what I need to do is..." he mimed jerking off with his free hand, and now John was fucking blushing too. He really needed to hold it together. The president needed his team to stop treating this like it was as utterly humiliating as it must feel to him. They were all professionals. He glanced up at Finnerty, who at least had her mask well and truly in place.

Ng got her act together long enough to say with an clinical detachment, "Unfortunately, it has to be signalling molecules released both by yourself and another person. The best results come from a simultaneous release."

"Simultaneous..." John started to say, and then he said, "Oh," in perfect accord with both Sawyer and Finnerty.

Sawyer yanked his hand away from John's and folded his arms across his chest. He still wouldn't look at any of them, and John couldn't blame him. He met Finnerty's eyes and gestured at the other side of the room with his chin.

She nodded minutely and led the way.

"This cannot get out," John whispered. "Not even to the rest of the team."

"No shit, Cale," she snapped back, voice just as low.

"So you, me or the doc," John said.

Finnerty shook her head. "Doc said that someone had to get off, and Ng's a lesbian. I'll do it."

John wondered how the hell she'd worked that out. "I can too," he said, and on her sceptical look, "How do you think I knew that Jim Finnerty from Sigma Chi was an asshole?"

From the look on Finnerty's face, he was going to be hearing more about that one later. For now, she said, "Fine," in a clipped tone that indicated it was anything but. "It would be better if he had a choice."

"Yeah," John said, and tried not to think of how shitty a person it made him that he wanted Sawyer to pick him. He needed to get a grip.

Sawyer excused Ng before Finnerty could say anything, and said, "You two decide who gets to sacrifice for god and country?" His pants were tented up even further, and he was lying back with both hands spread flat on the quilt. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and John could see how shallow his breathing was from five feet away.

"We're both willing to, sir," Finnerty said evenly. "Whoever you would prefer."

Willing and fucking eager, because John was the worst person in the world, and he could already feel himself getting hard.

"Damn," Sawyer muttered. "For the record, I really, really hate this."

"I know, sir," Finnerty said, and her voice was so soft and full of compassion that John could have kissed her. That was the voice the president needed to hear right now, not some horndog willing to take advantage of his boss. "I know this isn't what you want, and ideally none of us would have to think about it, but we need to resolve this situation as quickly as possible. Cale and I are both willing to help you, so whatever you want to do, we're okay with that."

"I don't see how you can be," Sawyer said. He rubbed a hand over his face, then wiped it on the quilt. "That bastard, he's making me..." he couldn't finish, but John could imagine a dozen conclusions to that sentence, each one worse than the last.

"It wouldn't be the worst thing I've had to do for my country, Mr. President," John said, trying to ease some of the tension. Finnerty glared at him, but he got a lopsided smile from Sawyer, so he added, "Just put a bag over my head, and do it for old Abe."

He could hear Finnerty grinding her teeth, but Sawyer actually chuckled at that, and therefore John was winning.

"But, John?" Sawyer asked, expression sobering, "You would really do that? For me?"

"Of course, sir," John said, and wished there wasn't a part of him jumping up and down and yapping like a puppy who'd been promised a treat.

"'Of course,'" Sawyer muttered. "Well, Carol," he said. "I guess you better give us the room."

"Yes, sir," Finnerty said gravely. John half expected her to salute, but she restrained herself. Instead, she leaned in and said into John's ear, "Call me if you need anything."

"Like what?" John mouthed, but she just shook her head at him and stepped away. The door clicked shut a moment later, and John was left alone with the president, and with the little president. "So, uh..." John said. Joking had been all well and good before, but now he couldn't think of a damn thing to say.

"You done this before?" Sawyer asked, and for an insane moment John thought he meant have sex with his boss to save his life from an a killer aphrodisiac, and wondered what Sawyer thought the Capitol Police's duties were like. "With a guy?" Sawyer clarified. "Because it's been a while for me."

"Oh," John said. Right. "Uh, in the army, yeah, though that was usually pretty quick and dirty."

Sawyer nodded. He still wasn't looking at John, and this really, really wasn't going to work if they couldn't make some kind of connection.

"So you have?" John asked. He shrugged out of his jacket and double checked that his piece was safed before detaching his holster. Focusing on undoing his buttons helped give Sawyer space, and kept John's brain from running in frenzied circles. Neither of those actually seemed to work, but at least he figured he'd be less intimidating unarmed and in his undershirt.

Sawyer didn't move, John didn't know if he could. "I cruised a bit in in college, on the down low, you know. But it was too dangerous after, when I got into politics. Easier to quit than smoking, anyway."

"Okay," John said. The AC was turned way up, and he was getting goosebumps down his arms. He crouched next to the bed and put his hand on Sawyer's knee. Sawyer started. John bit the inside of his lip to hide a frown, and asked as casually as he could, "So what do you like?"

"I, uh, usually used to catch," Sawyer mumbled, as if that were embarrassing in the twenty-first century.

"Okay," John said again. He had condoms and lube in his go bag, because you never knew, so they were technically good to go, but without any buy in from Sawyer, he really didn't know how to proceed. John was used to a little more back and forth than this. Hell, he was used to partners who actually wanted to be there. "So do you want me to put that bag over my head now?"

Sawyer sat up, but it was only so he could double over and bury his face in his hands. His shoulders hitched and at first John thought he was crying, but then his whole body was shaking with hysterical laughter. John smiled up at him, a little unsure, and kept his hand on Sawyer's knee. Eventually Sawyer got a hold of himself enough to look at John and say, "You ever think you want something, and then you get it, and it turns out to be the worst thing that could happen to you?"

"Sounds familiar," John said, glad that they were at least looking at each other. "Hey, why don't you just let me look after you, sir?"

"Whatever you want to do," Sawyer said, and John realised that he wouldn't ask for anything, not when he felt like he was making John do this. John was not only going to have to take the lead, but he was going to figure out how to make it good for someone who was hardly talking to him.

"Here, come on." John coaxed Sawyer around until he was sitting on the edge of the bed with John crouched between his legs. "Let's get you out of that." He pushed Sawyer's jacket off, running his hand down muscled shoulders and then around and up his back. His skin felt too warm even through the heavy cotton, but John couldn't say he was sorry about getting to touch him like this. He'd played basketball with Sawyer before—or more accurately been royally trounced by Sawyer at basketball—and had seen him in shorts and a jersey often enough. The man kept in shape, especially after the whole White House Incident, or whatever they were calling it. John unbuttoned Sawyer's shirt so that he could touch him skin on skin and almost flinched away at the heat there. How long did they have before he started burning hot enough to do serious damage? John should have thought to ask. Stupid.

Sawyer shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed when John's fingertips found bare skin. His hands were clenched beside his hips, and John realised that Sawyer had been wound up tight for half an hour now, and was afraid of what he'd do if he moved.

"You can't hurt me, sir," John said.

"Can't I?" Sawyer asked, "What do you think I am doing now?"

"It's okay. It's nothing I don't want." John tried to underline that point by taking Sawyer's hand and lifting it so he could press his lips to the inside of the wrist, but even doing that, and even looking up through his lashes with his best bedroom eyes, he didn't think Sawyer believed him. His hand stayed clenched and his body tense as strung steel. That was fine, John could show him. John undid Sawyer's belt and started working on his fly. "Let's just get you started, sir."

"John," Sawyer said seriously, "when a man has his hand on my dick, he gets to call me 'James.'"

"James," John said. It sounded weird, and he didn't know if he liked it. The dick in question was pushing out against Sawyer's shorts, already making a damp spot. John pressed his face against it, breathing in the scent of come and perspiration and clean cotton. He put his open mouth over the tip of Sawyer's cock and sucked at it through his shorts. It tasted salty and bitter, and he wanted to swallow the whole thing down. "You ready?" he asked, then remembered to say, "James?"

Sawyer was gripping the edges of the bed and staring at the curtains behind them, jaw still clenched. John could feel his hips twitching as he suppressed the urge to thrust into John's mouth. "Cale, if you don't stop touching me, this is going to be over real fast."

"No shit," John muttered, he didn't know how Sawyer was still alive having been that hard for so long. "We'll have to go two rounds, or you will, I guess. Here, just..." He tugged at Sawyer's shorts and got them and his pants pulled down and off over his shoes. "This is good, see?" He kept a hand on each of Sawyer's knees and held his legs spread wide as he dropped to his knees and bent down. He'd always liked the look of Sawyer's thighs in workout shorts, and he liked them even better now. He had long, lean legs, and his skin was smooth under John's touch. God, he was shaking. John needed to get a move on. The little president wasn't all that little, but John had figured that. "Here, let me show you what I learned in the army."

"There is no greater service a man can give than..." Sawyer started to say, but he choked off when John wrapped his lips around the tip of his cock and sucked hard. Sawyer's hands flew to the back of John's head, then yanked away just as fast, settling on top of John's on his knees. His hips bucked up, rising to meet John, as John knelt up to get the angle right and then swallowed his cock right down to the root. It'd been a few years for John too, but this was like riding a bicycle. He worked his throat to take it all, and kept swallowing until his nose bumped into Sawyer's stomach. Above him, Sawyer was gasping raggedly and his hips surged forward to try and drive further into John.

John rode with it, bobbing up and down in time with Sawyer's ragged thrusts. He kept sucking and running his tongue back and forth across the bottom of his cock, then rolling it up the side as far as he could reach. Sawyers hands clenched over John's, and he kept choking back cries. John wanted to make him let go, but even pumped full of aphrodisiacs and balls deep in someone's mouth, Sawyer was still trying to hold onto his dignity. Like John would blab about what they were doing to anyone, like there was anything in the world Sawyer could do that would make John think less of him, or love him any less. John pulled back, sucking hard and tightening his lips around Sawyer's cock as he went. It was fast and harsh, and Sawyer came in his mouth just as he got to the tip.

"Jesus," Sawyer swore, drawing out the first syllable. He let go of John's hands and patted at his hair, running his fingers through John's fresh brush cut like he was petting a cat. John just stayed where he was, sucking lightly until Sawyer was soft and spent in his mouth. He'd swallowed most of it and wiped the rest off his face with the back of his hand.

"You okay, sir?" John asked, looking up to assess Sawyer's expression. He still looked flushed and uncomfortable, but the tension had run out of his jaw, and he was staring down at John with wide eyes.

"You seriously need to stop calling me that," Sawyer told him and flopped backwards onto the bed, kicking off his shoes.

"Right, sorry... James." Yeah, that wasn't sounding any less weird the third time around. John stood and stripped naked, then hunted around for his go bag. When he got back, Sawyer was still lying sideways across the bed in just his undershirt, his legs spread wide. John imagined lifting them and just ploughing into him then and there. He would be pliant and easy to take, and it would feel so good. Sawyer looked so doped out that he would let John do whatever he wanted.

Which was why it was John's responsibility to be the one to look after him and make sure he felt good. Sawyer might only be letting John do this because he had to, but that just made it more important for John to be careful and respectful, and all that crap that he really didn't want to do right now. Christ, which one of them had been drugged? John's dick was already hard, and his thoughts were starting to skip all over the place with how much he needed the man in front of him. "Don't screw this up, Cale," he muttered, which was a shitty choice of words when he thought about it.

He laid himself down sideways across the bed, curling his legs up so that they didn't hang off the edge. "How're you doing?"

"Momma was wrong," Sawyer said, "I should have joined the army." He tried to smile, and didn't quite get there.

John laughed and kissed the side of Sawyer's mouth. It felt a hell of a lot more personal than just sucking his cock, but maybe that was because John had sucked a lot of cocks over the years, and could count on one hand the number of men he'd taken the time to kiss. He put his hand over Sawyer's heart, and could feel that it was still pounding, even through his undershirt. His skin felt feverish and far too hot, and he was getting hard again already. No wonder that shit was hot on the black market. They needed to get going before the drug accelerated, and everything John had tried to do was for nothing.

"James," John said softly, and took hold of Sawyer's chin to tip his face towards him. "We need to keep going."

"I'd let you do anything in the world to me," Sawyer told him. He sounded vague and still a little out of it, but maybe that was for the best. It probably wouldn't hurt if the details were a little fuzzy in the morning, even if John would never be able to forget what this felt like. He kissed Sawyer properly, keeping it shallow and gentle but trying to show that he could trust John not to hurt him. John stroked Sawyers face and the side of his neck. He wanted to keep touching him, to just lie here for hours and kiss and stroke each other's bodies.

Except that Sawyer wasn't touching John back. He was lying still and waiting, to see what would happen. John put his thumb over the pulse point on Sawyer's throat, and could feel his heart pounding, but he was again holding himself in reserve.

"You can't hurt me," John told him again. He took Sawyer's hand and pressed it to his hip. Sawyer's skin felt burning hot against the cool of the AC, and John shivered.

Sawyer didn't take his hand away, but he looked at John, and all that laser clarity that won him peace deals and elections was back in his eyes. John didn't know if he liked it better when he thought Sawyer was completely out of it. There was a lot of shitty karma going either way on that one.

"Sir?" John asked. He was never going to get the hang of _James._

"I know you don't want this," he said.

John groaned. They were back to that again. If his choices were a full confession, now of all times, or saying whatever he needed to to make this easy for Sawyer, he knew which was the right thing to do. "Hey, neither of us signed up for this," he said, "but it's happening, so we can have a good time, or we can have a bad time. It's just sex. You used to cruise, right?"

"Right," Sawyer agreed, but he studied John's face for an uncomfortably long time before he slowly slid his hand back and squeezed John's ass. "Right," he said again, but his voice was deeper and more throaty.

"There we go," John said. He kissed Sawyer again, but made it open mouthed and sloppy this time, and was rewarded with Sawyer squeezing his ass harder and opening his mouth to let John's tongue in. Fuck, that felt good. Again John felt the pull of just making out, but they really did need to get this show on the road, so he pulled back. "Here, come on, easier if you kneel, go doggie style, right?"

"I want to see it's you," Sawyer blurted, then clenched his jaw and scowled. "I mean, I just, I want to see who it is, okay?

"Yeah, okay," John told him, and put that aside for things to worry about later too. "You still gotta get on the bed."

John got out of the way, and Sawyer swung his legs up onto the bed so that he was lying right down the middle of it with his head on the pillows. It was the kind of suite where the hotel gave you about forty pillows per bed, which usually just pissed John off, but now he jammed a narrow one under the small of Sawyer's back, and a fat one under his hips, until his ass was lifted up and his legs were bent and spread wide. John wanted to tell him how good he looked, but that didn't fall in the bounds of just two guys making the best of it, so he picked the packet of lube off the side table and ripped it open with his teeth.

He was about to pour it on his hand when Sawyer reached between his legs and said, "You want me to do that?"

"I've got it." John violently suppressed the image of Sawyer lying there and fingering himself open. It was his job to look after his boss. Sawyer still held out his hand palm up, and something in the intensity of his gaze told John that he needed to do this. "Yeah, okay," John said, and squeezed the package out over Sawyer's fingers.

Sawyer had to curl forward a bit to reach, grunting at the strain, and John almost changed his mind about letting him do this. Before he could say anything, Sawyer got it figured out and slid two fingers into his ass. He groaned as he penetrated himself, and lifted his hips to make the angle work, his thighs flexing and straining. John's mouth went dry as he watched Sawyer writhing on his own hand. Sawyer’s heels dug into the quilt as he pushed his fingers in to the second knuckle. He bit his lip and let out a moan, dropping back down again, pulling out as he descended.

It was like watching a fucking porno, but one tailor made for John's libido. Sawyer's teeth were bright against his lip, and John couldn't look away as he worried at it, and suppressed his moans. Sawyer wanted to be in control of something, to not have his body just taken and used against him. Sawyer's cock was hard again and bobbed as he moved. John wanted to lean in and lick it, but he waited, watching, until Sawyer was ready for him. He touched his knee, and when Sawyer moaned at that, John stroked down his thigh, feeling his muscles flex and work under his palm. He cupped his hand over Sawyer's as it worked between his legs, and he moved forward as Sawyer moved back until his fingertips touched Sawyer's hole. He looked up, wanting permission, but Sawyer had his eyes squeezed shut. His face was flushed and too dark, and John didn't like how fast and hard his breathing was. There was desperation in the jerk of Sawyers hands now, and his hips rose and fell erratically.

The condoms were pre-lubed, but John poured another packet onto their joined hands anyway. He kept moving his hand over Sawyer's until their fingers intertwined when he pulled out, and then slid in together as Sawyer's hips lifted. John could feel that he was loose and ready, but it didn't feel like enough. He needed to make sure that Sawyer felt good. He needed to stop Sawyer's hand from jerking and shaking and desperately fucking himself on his fingers.

John pulled Sawyer's hand away, and holding it still twined with his own. "Hey," he said. "Go easy there, huh?"

Sawyer just shook his head and pushed his hips up, trying to find more contact where he'd been left empty. "Please," he muttered, voice stuttering, almost incoherent.

"Goddamn," John said. When he'd imagined Sawyer out of control under his touch, he hadn't pictured it like this. He wanted the pleading, and he wanted it to be for him, and not because of some drug messing Sawyer up. John really needed to fucking stop wishing for things. He swallowed hard and rolled the condom over his cock, pinching the base to slow himself down. "Easy, sir," he said again. He'd forgotten to call him James, but Sawyer didn't seem to notice. He rolled his head back and groaned low in his throat as John pushed the head of his cock in. John waited for a moment to lett them both adjust, and waiting also for John to get a goddamn grip so he didn't just start pounding away. Sawyer felt tight and sweet around him, and he was hardly inside at all.

Before John could move again, Sawyer wrapped his legs around the small of John's back and tried to drag himself down onto John. He didn't have the leverage to do it, but the message was pretty clear. John settled with his knees a little wider, and started to rock back and forth in time with Sawyer's heels digging into his back. Each thrust went a little deeper, until John's hip bones brushed against Sawyer's ass, and Sawyer's legs were locked tight around his back, holding him close. Sawyer reached up for him, and John leaned in so that Sawyer could grab his shoulders and have something to hang onto. His eyes opened again and met John's with a steadiness that John hadn't expected.

John wanted to ask if he was ready, but they were clearly past that point, so he took Sawyer's hips in his hands and pulled back slowly, arching his back against the legs circling his waist. "You, uh, gotta ease up a bit, sir... James," he said when their bodies remained locked together. "Let me drive this time."

Sawyer grimaced, his expression pained and stretched, but he did relax his hold. Every time Sawyer moved his legs, his ass clenched down on John's cock, and John had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a hold of himself. The worst part was that Sawyer didn't even seem to know he was doing it.

"Sir James," Sawyer said. "Used to call me that at Yale, said I was a pretentious little prick."

"You showed them," John said. He felt a stab of empathy for young James Sawyer at Yale, a scholarship kid surrounded by silver spoons. All the pictures back then showed a buttoned up young man who took himself far too seriously. He'd been stupidly attractive then, too.

"If they could see me now," Sawyer said, and John didn't like the bitterness in his tone, but couldn't say it wasn't earned either. It wasn't like Sawyer wanted to be lying on his back with his bodyguard's cock in his ass. They needed to get this over with.

John gritted his teeth and pulled out. He let out a long breath as he did, and tried to focus on the air leaving his body, not the tight pull of Sawyer's ass around his cock, or the way the movement made Sawyer groan and flex his thighs. He wrapped those legs around John's back again as he pushed back in, and his fingers dug into the muscles of John's neck; his whole body was responding to each of John's thrusts, drawing him in and then letting him go. Nothing John had done in the army had felt half this good, and none of the men had been half as gorgeous. At least it didn't feel like that right now with Sawyer flushed and writhing under him.

"Jesus, sir," John gasped, and again quashed the urge to tell Sawyer how good he looked, and how amazing he felt, and that there wasn't anything John had ever wanted more than to be doing this with him.

"James," Sawyer said, voice high and pleading. "Say my name."

John shifted his grip to get a better hold on Sawyer's ass and grunted as he drove into him. "James," he said as his hips slapped against Sawyers thighs. "James," he said again, and pulled out, and then, "James, James, James, James," with each thrust as they grew faster and harder, and John lost control of everything except the one thing Sawyer had asked him to do.

He could feel the blood rushing through him, and the pressure building in his cock, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer; it was a miracle he hadn't come already. He wrapped his hand around Sawyer's cock and started to pull him off in time with his thrusts.

Sawyer moaned and rolled his head back, all control gone. His heels beat against John's back hard enough to bruise, but he couldn't pull himself together enough to try and draw John in again. He held onto John's shoulders like he was afraid of falling, and he didn't say a damn word. John would never make him beg, no matter what his fantasies said.

Sawyer screamed when he came in John's hand, too sensitive from coming twice in an hour, and his muscles convulsed around John's cock. It was enough, even without saying anything, to tip John over the edge. His hips kept jerking forward, trying to pump into Sawyer, and he had to let go of Sawyer's cock and pound the bed next to his hip. His vision whited out for a second as the whole world seemed to rush out of him, and then it was over.

John stayed where he was, panting and trying to pull his thoughts together enough to tally the damage. Sawyer's hands slipped from his shoulders, and he flopped spread eagled under John. His head was tipped back and he looked up at John through half-closed eyes. John couldn't tell how much Sawyer was seeing, or if he was just staring into space. He was breathing hard, and perspiration soaked through his undershirt, which was the only piece of clothing either of them was wearing. John reached down and touched the side of Sawyer's face, cupping the line of his jaw with his palm and stroking along his cheekbone. "Are you okay, sir?"

Sawyer closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, his glance looked right through John. "Are you still calling me, 'sir'?"

John moved his hand to press two fingers to Sawyer's pulse point. His heart was beating fast but steady, and slowing down as they both lay still. "I guess I am," John said. He leaned back, pinching the base of the condom to hold it in place as he pulled out. Sawyer was still limp under him and didn't look like he was moving any time soon. John was worried that it hadn't worked and he'd humiliated his boss for nothing. "Should I get Doctor Ng?"

"Give me a minute," Sawyer said. He moved to rub his eyes, and realised his hand was covered in lube. Their eyes met, and John knew they were both thinking of Sawyer fucking himself on his fingers and moaning while John watched. Sawyer looked away first. "I just... I need to clean up."

"Yes, sir."

It would be better if he could get Sawyer into the shower, but he didn't think that was going to happen just yet. Instead he went to the bathroom and soaked down a couple of hand towels with warm water and brought them back. The hotel had some fancy smelling soap so he snagged that too. He didn't know if Sawyer wanted to see him naked—or see him at all ever again—so he pulled on a pair of jogging sweats from his go bag before he came back out. "Here, let me..." he couldn't think how to finish that one, so instead he wiped the sweat off Sawyer's face, moving carefully so as not to startle him. Sawyer closed his eyes and let John touch him, so John wiped his arms clean as well. He knew that it wouldn't be the same as a shower, but he remembered from Afghanistan that even a bit of blood-warm water on a handkerchief could make the difference between feeling like a creature made of dirt and feeling like a human being.

"I'll be okay in a minute. You don't have to do this, John," Sawyer said, but he didn't resist when John sat him up and peeled the sodden undershirt off him, and then started to wipe down his back. The scar from the greenhouse glass made a pale line along the side of his ribs, and John traced it with his nail. Sawyer had trusted John then too, and had been shot in the chest for his troubles.

"You feel better now, sir?" John asked. "Not like before?"

Sawyer nodded and pulled his knees up so that he could wrap his arms around them. John kept rubbing the warm cloth back and forth across his back, not really cleaning so much as soothing. He wanted to put his arm around Sawyer's shoulders and pull him into a hug, but he knew that wouldn't be welcome, not while Sawyer was so visibly trying to pull himself back together. Instead, John yanked a throw blanket off a chair and wrapped it around him. Sawyer took the edges and pulled it close. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem, Mr. President." The sooner they put that wall of professionalism back in place, the better off they'd both be, but he couldn't quite seem to do it. He kept looking at Sawyer and seeing not his boss or the leader of the free world, but a man he'd been carrying a torch for since the day he'd met him, and someone he'd just had sex with. John's brain could talk all the sense it wanted, but his heart still wanted to give Sawyer a hug. He sat on the bed behind him, just far enough away that his hip didn't touch the curve of Sawyer's back as he hunched in on himself. He remembered how gentle Finnerty's tone had been earlier and tried to mimic that. "Is there anything else I can do, sir?"

"Just..." Sawyer took a long breath, which hitched in the middle, but didn't break into a sob. "Just stay where you are for a minute, huh?"

"Sure thing," John said. He would stay there until doomsday if he had to, so long as Sawyer asked.

"How about you?" Sawyer asked. "You all right?"

"A-OK, sir," John said, though he felt like his emotions had been scoured with steel wool. He could deal with that later. It hardly had anything to do with the president. At least John had had a choice. "Least it doesn't seem like that stuff was catching."

Sawyer nodded soberly, even though John had meant it as a joke. John missed the man who could make wisecracks while being chased by mercenaries.

"We should tell Carol you're all right, sir," John said when Sawyer showed no sign of moving or speaking again. "She must be about to have kittens."

"Call her," Sawyer said, so John found his phone and had a quick, hushed conversation to the tune of POTUS being okay, but still needing a few minutes alone. Finnerty wanted to send Ng in, but John held her off for the moment.

While he'd been talking, Sawyer had gotten up and disappeared into the en suite. John heard the shower click on. That had to be a good sign. He picked through the closet and drawers until he found Sawyer's second favourite dinner suit and some fresh underthings and slipped them onto the bathroom counter.

He wiped his own body clean with the other cloth, trying not to think about how he could feel the start of bruises on his shoulders and lower back, or how his knees were stiff and his throat a little raw. That would fade soon enough, even if the memories wouldn't. He dressed as quickly and re-holstered his piece before letting Finnerty and Ng back in. "He's in the shower," John said, holding the door open for them. The C.A.T. members bracketed the ends of the hallway, lethal-looking in their black B.D.U.s. John wondered if they'd heard anything.

Ng nodded and went to lay an ambush outside the bathroom, but Finnerty held back until John had the door closed. "You okay, Cale?" she asked, touching his elbow.

"Why do people keep asking me that?" John grumbled. "I'm not the one who was fucking poisoned."

Yeah, so he was still an asshole, and he'd definitely said that to hurt Finnerty, but it turned out she knew him too well. Instead of flinching back, she squeezed his elbow and said with that terribly compassionate look of hers, "The president wasn't the only who just had sex when he didn't want to."

John would have laughed, except he didn't want Ng to hear, so it came out as a chuff of breath and a twisted smile. "Trust me, wanting to was not the problem." He wasn't sure why he'd told Finnerty, except that he had to tell someone before he exploded, and the only other person he could think to trust with this was firmly off limits again. Where he should be.

"Oh, John," she sighed, and from her tone, he knew that she understood. She'd seen him go through enough impossible crushes in their freshman year, including the one on her. "Do you want me to assign you somewhere else for now?"

"I can't leave him," John answered immediately, then realised how selfish that sounded. "If he wants you to..."

The bathroom door clicked open, and President James Sawyer stepped out, armoured in his fresh suit, and entirely ready to simultaneously take on congress and the press with one hand tied behind his back. The part of John's brain that had never managed to leave the army wanted to stand at attention and salute. "I imagine you're going to want to look me over, Doc," he said. "Carol, find Bobby for me and get him here. I need to go over my schedule for tomorrow morning. Cale, why don't you grab a shower?"

"Yes, sir," John said automatically. He ducked out of the swirl of activity that the Sawyer had generated around himself and jogged down to the room down the hall. The guards didn't give him any funny looks, so he supposed that their secret was safe between the four of them.

He showered and shaved as fast as he could, then jogged back, almost running Ng over as she left the president's suite. "Sorry," he muttered, "How's he doing?"

"Just fine," Ng answered. Her hair had started to fall out of her bun, and she had the look of a woman who was heading for the bar rather than for her room. John couldn't say he blamed her. "Thanks to you, Agent Cale."

John didn't know what to say to that, so he just ducked his head and slid past her to knock on the door. Finnerty cleared him through herself. She was still the only secret service agent inside the room, and she too looked like she would very much like a drink, even if John knew should wouldn't let herself have one until they were back in D.C.. The White House exploding the one time she'd taken a day off hadn't done much for Finnerty's work-life balance.

Bobby was still going through the president's schedule, their heads leaning close as they looked at his tablet. If John hadn't made a living watching Sawyer, he would think it looked like any other time that he'd worked with one of his aids. As it was, John could read the tension in his shoulders, and in the way he kept his hands still to keep from showing emotion through his gestures. He wondered if Bobby saw it. Finnerty certainly did.

"Doc said he checked out," John said.

Finnerty nodded. "Checked out physically, yes, but we may need..."

John was shaking his head. "He won't agree," he said. Sawyer was too damn private to go to a counsellor or any kind of head shrinker. If being held hostage, blown up and shot in the chest hadn't done it, there was no way this would. And anyway, if they were sitting on this secret, the best way to keep it was to not tell anyone, and John knew Sawyer would agree with him there too.

"Well," Finnerty said, "he won't talk to me, so I'm going to go shake down Mr. KKK some more before the feebees get him."

"Good luck with that," John said. He hadn't even been thinking about that end of the shit show. This wasn't over yet.

John watched as Sawyer patted Bobby on the shoulder, clearly dismissing him for the night. "Early morning tomorrow," he said pitching his voice so that Finnerty and John could hear.

"It's an early morning already, Mr. President," Bobby said, yawning.

"Goodnight, sir," Finnerty said.

John was about to go too, when Sayer caught his eye. "Agent Cale, a moment?"

"Yes, sir." John let the other two pass him.

Sawyer stood and walked to the windows but didn't move the curtains back, just stared at the fabric as though he could see through it. Then he turned back and looked at John. He didn't say anything, and John wondered if he knew what to say. Saywer's shoulders still had that tension in them, and he hadn't loosened his tie like he usually did by this point in the night.

"Can I do something for you, sir?" John asked.

"Sit down, John," Sawyer said, and John's eyes immediately fell on the chair by the bed, the one he'd sat on holding Sawyer's hand not two hours before. He picked the love seat in the sitting area by the window, as far away from the bed as he could get.

Sawyer sat on the couch across from him, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on his knees in a posture John recognised from any of a dozen meetings with potentially hostile heads of state. John wondered what that made him. This had a strong _I'm sorry John, but we'll have to let you go_ vibe to it, and John didn't even know if he should fight for his place or not. He could understand if Sawyer wanted to send him away so he never had to look at him again. He could sympathise even. The problem was that would just leave Finnerty and Ng who knew what happened, and John wanted Sawyer to have more than that. Sawyer was the damn president, and John still wanted to give him everything.

"How are you, John?" Sawyer asked, "Really?"

"Uh..." John said. He hadn't expected Sawyer to circle back around to this so quickly. He'd figured he'd have a day or so to work out what the hell he felt, but of course Sawyer was asking already. He cared about his people, and that was one of the many reasons John admired him as much as he did. "I guess I'm worried about you, sir."

"Doc says I'm doing fine," Sawyer said evasively.

"That's what Carol said, but there's doing fine, and there's _doing fine_ , isn't there?"

Sawyer looked down at his hands, which now dangled between his knees. Not long before, those same hands had clutched at John's shoulders as John thrust into him, and not long before that had fucked himself open. He'd scrubbed his nails down to the quick, quite literally washing his hands of the whole thing. "I'm the kind of doing fine you are when you aren't really fine at all," Sawyer admitted. "Which one's that?"

"Same one I am," John said. He was groping forward through this conversation, trying to find his way in the dark by memory and gut instinct. Right now his gut instinct said that Sawyer didn't want to feel completely alone, and John was the only person on Earth who could be here with him right now.

"I guess we match, then," Sawyer said. He was thinking back to the fall out from the attack on the White House, some media comment about bloody undershirts and abrasions. In those first months, it seemed like John and Finnerty were the one two that really understood what Sawyer had been through. They'd stuck to Sawyer like glue back then, barely pausing to eat and sleep in case he needed them. John figured he could do no less now.

"I guess we do," John agreed. "Same as always." Except Sawyer was the President of the United States, and John was an ex-army, ex-bodyguard secret service agent with no sense of emotional preservation. Nothing about them matched, other than that they'd both been through the same things, and they both had daughters.

"I'm sorry, John," Sawyer said.

"For getting poisoned?" John asked. "I think that one's on your protection detail." Which was another thing John was going to have to work out how to deal with: how all of this was his fault for allowing it to happen in the first place.

"For choosing you." Sawyer squirmed, shifting his weight in the chair like he'd do anything to get out of this conversation, but he kept eye contact and said, "I should have chosen Carol."

John tried to picture that, and then deliberately didn't picture that, because it turned out imagining those two in bed was pretty damn easy. Why Finnerty? Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt Sawyer without realising he was doing it? "How's that, sir?"

"I could have kept it professional with Carol Finnerty," Sawyer said. "With you, it's been difficult. Maybe we match a little too much."

Was he saying what John thought he was saying, or was this somehow wishful thinking and left over pheromones clouding his head? "Sounds to me like you're saying the little president did the choosing, sir," John said, again trying to make a joke out of it, though he realised too late that implying that Sawyer had been out of control even then probably didn't help.

Sawyer just snorted. "Yeah, that's about right. You deserve to not have to worry about that from me. So, what I'm wondering if it's something you can live with, or if you want... I don't know, some kind of transfer. I can put in a good word for you to the Office of the Prime Minister of Canada."

"Uh, no," John said. He'd been with Sawyer on a diplomatic trip to Ottawa in February. People literally commuted by ice skates. Even if he wanted a transfer, that would not have been where he'd have picked. "I don't have a problem with you... uh, having the hots for me, sir." He hesitated, but his gut instinct was still waving him forward, so he finished, "as long as you don't have a problem with me wanting to tap that since the day we met?"

"'Tap that'?" Sawyer demanded, then circled back. "Wait, was this before or after I got shot in the watch?" Sawyer asked.

"Definitely before," John said, even if he couldn't pin it down exactly. "I wouldn't have said anything, but I've had it pretty bad for a while now."

Sawyer leaned back in his chair and looked at John like he'd just seen him for the first time. "Huh," he said.

"So we're cool then?" John asked when he didn't get anything more than that. "I mean, it wasn't ideal, but we wouldn't have kicked each other out of bed before, so..." He trailed off, realising that the _so what now_ part was where Sawyer was stuck too.

"I'd say we're cool," Sawyer agreed, but he didn't get up or dismiss John, or say it was time to go to bed. "I guess the problem I have is I spent so long thinking about what it'd be like to kiss you, that now that I've gone and done it..."

"It's going to be tough to go back to pretending we're not thinking about it?" John said. That had been pretty near the top of the list of things he'd decided to worry about later. "Do you want me to take some time off, sir?" It would be the first vacation in eight months. "Give you a chance to..."

"No," Sawyer said, far too quickly, "Unless you think you need to get away from..."

"No!" John leaned forward and said with all the sincerity he could muster. "Mr. President, someone just poisoned you, and you almost died, again. If it's okay with you, I'm never letting you out of my sight."

Sawyer at least didn't try to tell John it wasn't his fault. They both knew better. John had no idea how Sawyer was able to trust anyone when his protection detail had failed or betrayed him time after time. "Frankly, I don't want to be out of your sight either," Sawyer said. "I know it's a big ask, after everything you've done, but would you stay in the suite tonight?"

John's eyes flicked to the bed, its pillows still disarranged and quilt making the impressions of their bodies. He pictured himself lying across the foot of the king-sized bed like a dog. He pictured himself under the covers with Sawyer cradled against his chest, safe and warm. John really was an idiot, like Finnerty kept saying. He could pull the couch around so that it was between the door and the bed. It was almost long enough for him to stretch out on without finishing off his back. Sawyer could lend him a pillow. "I would absolutely do that, sir," he said.

"You really can call me 'James,'" he told him. He got up and stretched, and John knew Sawyer would be feeling the marks his fingers had left on his hips, and the looseness in his ass where John's cock had been, just like John felt the imprint of Sawyer's body on his.

"Yes, sir," John agreed easily. Who knew, maybe someday he would.


End file.
